


where new lights begin

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 10, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean keeps the orange hoodie. </p>
<p>(obligatory 10.12 coda)</p>
            </blockquote>





	where new lights begin

It wasn't a conscious thing, at first. More of an accident, really. 

On the way back to their motel from that gingerbread horror show, Dean shucked the too-small jacket as quickly as possible, but kept the hoodie on for warmth. When he changed back at the motel, somehow the hoodie ended up at the bottom of Dean's duffle in the middle of his hasty packing, and so when they got back to the bunker and Dean dumped out his bag the next morning, there it still was, as orange and soft as ever.

And Dean had meant to forget about it, truly. But every time he came into his room, or looked up from his study spot against his bed, there it would be, hanging over the back of his desk chair in his room, _staring_ at him.

And so he started wearing it. 'Cause why the hell not, right? It's warm, it's there, it's _clean_. And if Dean only wears it in the comfort of his bedroom, then no one else has to know. 

It's not that Dean thinks Sam--or anyone else for that matter--would judge him for wearing it outside of the concrete walls of his little sanctuary, but Dean's oddly self-conscious about it, still. It's not something he would usually wear, no, but it's a pretty understated garment, as far as fashion goes. It wouldn't catch any curious eyes more than Dean's usually layering up would. 

But the thing is, Dean has only ever worn hoodies when he's sick, when he needs _comfort_. And so he rarely wears them, for two reasons: one, he doesn't want to spoil the sense of safety he gets from them by wearing them out and about on a hunt, and proving that sense of safety to be fragile at best when his shirt gets ripped open beneath the claws of something or other. The second being that most of the time Dean doesn't believe he deserves to feel even that much comfort at all.

But second chances and all that, right? And maybe Dean needs to find his own kind of cleansing. Maybe wearing something as simple as a hoodie could be the beginning of his fresh start.

And so it's the orange hoodie that he's wearing the next time Cas comes home.

 

***

 

"Dean?" Cas' voice peaks through the crack in Dean's bedroom door just before his body comes into view as the door is pushed open.

"Cas!" Dean greets him, sitting up from his slouch on the floor at the foot of his bed, leaning against the bed frame. "Hey, uh," he moves to stand up, dusting his pants off absently. "I thought you were still in Missouri."

Castiel takes a cursory glance around the room, curious as to what Dean’s been up to. "I was until this morning, but Sam--"

Dean grunts mirthlessly, and looks away. *Of course* this was about babysitting him all along. "Right. Let me guess, Sam called you. Told you I can't be left on my own--"

Dean’s sudden change of mood captures Castiel’s immediate attention. "No."

"Really," Dean says, doubtful.

"Sam found some old texts that might be of help, but requires my expertise in translation," Cas explains, as he walks further into the room, relaxing his posture in invitation for Dean to do the same.

Dean nods in understanding. He turns around and leans down to pick up his forgotten book, still lying open on the floor. He closely it carefully and places it on the desk next to them. 

"So it's a business call, then," he concludes, moving around his bed to sit on the edge, against the headboard.

"If trying to help you can be called business, yes," Castiel comments dryly, moving with Dean to sit down on the bed beside him.

"Shitty market for that nowadays, huh," Dean grunts.

Castiel frowns at Dean's jab at himself. "I hardly think your wellbeing should be compared to capitalist discourse," he informs him, the sentiment serious, but the delivery wry.

It makes Dean chuckle. "Remind me never to play Monopoly with you."

The ensuing conversation lull gives Castiel the opportunity to take pause, assessing Dean with his concerned gaze.

"How are you, Dean?" he asks finally. It's not accusative, nor probing. He keeps his eyes and voice gentle, open. It makes Dean's throat dry up.

"Shouldn't you be asking Sam that question?" he deflects reflexively.

Castiel raises a brow, calling Dean on his evasion. "I'm asking you."

Dean sighs. "Same as ever, you know," he shrugs. "Maybe worse," he adds, a bit more honestly, as he clenches the fist of the arm that bears the Mark. He frowns down at it, though the Mark itself is concealed by his sleeve. Its presence is still heavy in the room, overwhelming. "Probably worse."

Castiel's gaze follows Dean's, tracing the lines of his forearm. 

He's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "I don't think there are many people who would have the strength you do to keep fighting like this," he says, "for this long." 

Cas looks up. "I admire you, Dean."

The corner of Dean's mouth quirk up wryly, but it's short lived. "Yeah?" Dean bites out, mouth twisting in self-directed scorn. "Well, you're the only one."

"That's not true."

Dean huffs at the statement. It's not foreign to his ears, especially not from Castiel of late, to hear such affirmations of his worth. That doesn't mean he _feels_ it. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel more exhausted by the day, dragged under the blackened riptide.

It's too much. 

So he braces himself to hear more, for Castiel to say it again so he can lash out, _prove_ to him how wrong he is. He can already feel a bitter taste building in the back of his mouth.

But Castiel surprises him, again.

"This looks nice on you," he says all of a sudden.

Dean is thrown for a moment, clumsily floundering for what on Earth Castiel is talking about "What--Oh, ha, this?" he asks, gesturing at the orange hoodie he forgot he was still wearing. "Yeah, it's warm, I guess, at least."

"I remember having one like it," Castiel nods sagely. "When I was--was human." Cas' stumble over the word is brief, but Dean still catches it.

"Right, yeah. That red thing," he recalls. Castiel had look good, he remembers, once he'd cleaned up. But the rest of those memories are tied up in too much guilt to go further.

Castiel, though, seems to have no such qualms about it. "After I got hired by Nora at the Gas-n-Sip, I gave it to a man on the street who looked like he needed it more than me," he recounts.

"Dude, you were homeless too."

"Technically, yes," Castiel concedes, "but I had somewhere warm to sleep." 

_No thanks to you_ , Dean thinks. Castiel doesn't seem to hold any resentments, but Dean thinks he should. Dean certainly does. He still remembers with a vividness the way Castiel face had fallen when he'd told him he had to go. Dean still remembers the way it felt like his own chest, too, was being flayed open.

"I'm sorry, about... that," he swallows heavily. "You know I never wanted you to go. It was just--"

"Sam," Castiel finishes. "I know, Dean. I don't blame you."

"Well, you _should_. I do," Dean snaps back, as the Mark boils the blood beneath hid skin. "That whole fucking mess was all my fault. You, Kevin--you never should have had to pay the price for my mistakes."

Dean's so caught up with the rage building in his arm, in his whole body, that he doesn't even register at first that Castiel's hand is now clasped over his own. Dean blinks down at it as he ears slowly stop ringing.

"You forget that the reason I fell in the first place was _my_ mistake," Cas implores him to see. 

"Yeah, but Metatron duped you--"

Cas smiles sadly. "Gadreel duped you, too."

Slowly, Castiel's hand coaxes Dean's to unclench. Dean watches in silent disbelief and awe as his hand falls open, and Castiel folds his own into it. They've always danced along a tense and dangerous line of intimacy, but this is something _new_ , something different. And Dean _aches_ for it. He lets out a shaky breath.

"God, we're a couple sorry assholes, aren't we?" he tries to joke lightly, but his voice comes out sounding cracked and raw.

"Perhaps," Castiel smiles, more gently now. His grip tightens. "But in that case, selfishly, I'm glad I'm not alone."

"Yeah?" if possible, Dean's voice cracks further, but this time it's on surprised joy, on _hope_. He desperately searches Cas' eyes for any sign of falsity, but finding none, he squeezes tentatively back. "Me neither."

They sit like that for a few moments, in quiet contentment, soaking in the other's presence. Cas' hand is warm within his, and Dean wonders why they haven't always done this, touched so honestly. The Mark continues to simmer on his arm, but it's a different kind of heat, stinging and sharp. Cas' warmth though is like a smooth balm, like sitting in the spill of sun coming in from a window on that first day of spring.

"I don't know how much longer I can fight this, man," Dean says quietly. It's no secret how bad this is for him, but Dean still feels vulnerable admitting it out loud.

But Cas remains a solid presence at his side. "Then I will continue to fight when you cannot," he affirms, and Dean almost wants to laugh at how _sincere_ it is, but how ultimately, tragically naïve.

"Cas--"

"Dean," Cas breathes softly, bringing him back again. "We're with you on this." He twists in his perch on the bed to swing his right arm over, placing his other hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'm with you."

Dean licks his lips, nervous. "Yeah?"

Castiel sways into Dean then, unconsciously as he says with earnestness, "Always. Until my last breath."

It's a profound statement, Dean knows. It's not one he's unfamiliar with, in this life. He'd say the same of Cas, of Sam of course, any day. But it feels different like this, both of them siting so close on Dean's bed, in his house, in his _home_. 

"Well," Dean drawls to relieve the tension a bit, as Cas' hand drops from his shoulder, "let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Castiel's responding smile is crooked, but genuine. "The same to you."

"You promised, though, remember--"

Castiel cuts him off before Dean can tumble down that road again. "I didn't promise you that. I can't Dean. Don't ask me--I can't." His voice is tight, tired. Dean knows the feeling. 

He always knew asking Cas to play executioner if needed was a heavy request, but it was also one made out of absolute trust, and well, love. Cas doesn't deserve to have Dean turn into a demon again, just as much as Dean doesn't want to himself. He's doing Cas a favour too, really, in his mind, by asking. But the ground there is very grey, and however much they don't speak of it, Dean _knows_ he's something--something special to Cas. He just doesn't always know how, or _why_. Or what. 

And yet, somehow out of all of this, without having a name for it, what _they_ are to each other right now seems so simple.

"You won't remember," Castiel says after a minute, "but the first time we met, the real first time, you asked me the same thing."

Dean casts his mind back to that moment in the barn, but then realises that can't be what Cas is talking about. "In Hell?" he asks, forehead scrunched up.

Cas nods. "You asked me to end it. But I didn't. I wouldn't, not even because my orders said otherwise," he says, and then takes a deep breath. He looks down to wear there hands are still joined. "I couldn't because I _saw_ you Dean, even blacked in the soot of that abyss, you were so...  _bright_."

He looks at Dean, and it's far too real, too raw for Dean to look back, but goddammit, he _does_. 

"Your soul, no matter how scarred, was still full, was still beautiful."

"Cas," Dean croaks out, but that's as far as he gets. He doesn't even know what he wants to say. _Thank you? You're lying? How are you still here then?_

"And you still are," Cas finishes, and there it is. Dean surges forward on instinct, capturing Cas' lips gracelessly, wet and wanting. Cas is still for a terrifying moment, and Dean's heart nearly skips out of his chest, but then he's opening up beneath him, _kissing him back_. 

Dean's mind hardly knows how to catalogue any of this, so he just lets his muscles guide him, pushing into Cas' space until his hand is on his rough, stubbled cheek, pulling him closer.

And for all that they always seem to be just one beat out of step with their disjointed lives, just that side of dissonant, suddenly, their rhythm _makes sense_ like this, as Cas presses back into him, both hands framing Dean's face. Dean's ears are still ringing, but for the first time, in a long time, it has nothing to do with the darkness. 

When they pull apart for a desperately needed breath, Dean doesn't let Cas go far. He keeps his eyes shut, leaning hit forehead against Cas' temple. He can feel Cas' fingers where they've weaved themselves into his hair, and almost hums at the sweet sensation.

"I don't wanna lose myself again, Cas," he admits shakily, willing Cas to understand the weight of this secret.

But of course he does.

"I know," he says, and Dean _feels_ it vibrate through his body more than hears it.

Still, though, Dean is anxious. He peels himself away just enough to look Cas in the eye, making sure he _gets_ it. "But if it happens, I don't--"

The hand that hand found it way to the soft hairs at the back of Dean's head slides slowly back to cup his cheek. Cas' thumb rests just below Dean's eyes, rubbing at the tired bags there, as if attempting to smooth out the lines. 

"I'll find you," he says, so _easily_ that yet again it leaves Dean breathless, feeling lightheaded. He says it like it was never a point of contention to him, never a site of second guessing. 

Maybe it wasn't. 

And _god_ , that's just about the most unbelievable but wonderful thing Dean's ever known.

Cas' smile colours his whole face. "Like the first time," he says, lifting the shadow up over their heads, "I will find you."


End file.
